


Shatter Me

by skillwithaquill



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, At least not exclusively, But I have a LOT of Mary Wardwell feelings, Character Study, F/F, F/M, I have no idea where this one is going really, Mary Wardwell - Freeform, Mary Wardwell is a traumatized cinnamon roll, Memory Loss, Mortal Mary Wardwell, Mystery, Not Lilith Mary Wardwell, Since I don't think they have a specific name yet, So just let me have this, Spellwell - Freeform, Spellwell is what I'm calling Zelda/Original Mary, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skillwithaquill/pseuds/skillwithaquill
Summary: Mary Wardwell woke from a disturbing dream only to discover that her life had become a nightmare.





	1. The Little Things

Normally, Mary Wardwell had an excellent memory. A precise, photographic memory that never failed her. It was how she earned straight A’s in school, breezed through her undergrad classes and achieved a Master’s degree in half the usual time. She prided herself on being able to retain names, dates, locations and fine details on any number of subjects. One of her very favorite things in the world was learning new facts and then sharing her knowledge. That was why she became a teacher and easily memorized her students’ files by the first day of class each year. Mary hadn’t gotten so much as a single student’s name incorrect in all her 20 years of teaching. 

_So why was her memory suddenly a vast, aching void?_

She had no recollection of how she arrived at the diner. When did she leave the movie theater? What time was it? Was it still Sunday? Where had she even slept before waking to find herself just outside the diner? 

The all-consuming uncertainty sent chills down her spine. 

“Hey, Ms. Wardwell,” Sabrina’s kind voice carried from a few booths away. “Are you okay?” 

Mary hoped her shiver wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Y-yes, I think so.” 

“Are you sure?” Roz Walker asked. 

On a good day, Mary would have been touched by their concern. Instead it only made her feel even more on edge. 

“Yes,” She smiled thinly. “I think I’m just a little under the weather. I should probably head home.” 

Mary hastily reached into her purse only to find her wallet missing. “That’s...strange.” 

“What’s wrong?” Sabrina stood up and made her way over to Mary’s booth. 

“I seem to have left my wallet behind,” Mary sounded more dazed than she would have liked in front of a student. 

“We can cover the bill for you,” Sabrina grabbed the check off the table before Ms. Wardwell could protest in time to stop her.

“Oh, Sabrina, I couldn’t possibly let you…” 

“It’s no problem,” The teen said confidently. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t let a student…”

“Really, Ms. Wardwell, it’s okay,” Sabrina interjected yet again. “It’s the least I could do.” 

If Mary hadn’t been so overwhelmed, she might have questioned that statement. Desperate as she was to escape prying eyes, she simply acquiesced. “Well, that’s very kind of you, Sabrina. Thank you.” 

Mary rose quickly from the booth and turned to Sabrina’s friends. “Have a lovely evening, everyone. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” 

All four teenagers shared a peculiar look between them. Mary felt her stomach drop. Though her students were being entirely polite, she couldn’t help the sense of dread that came over her. It was as though they somehow saw right through her, as if she were as transparent as a ghost. 

_Why are they looking at me like that?_ She wondered. _Do they know something I don’t?_

_Stop being ridiculous._ Mary tamped off her muddled thoughts. _They’re your students. Still children in their own way. They are probably just annoyed that you reminded them about school in the morning._

“Good night, Ms. Wardwell,” Sabrina smiled warmly. 

“Bye, guys,” Mary waved and all but darted out of the diner. 

The cool air outside helped center her a little. A few deep breaths had her feeling almost normal again. For some reason, the air lacked the tinge of fall that Mary expected. The sharp, earthy scent was missing entirely. Everything smelled fresher, more light and gentle. More like early spring than mid Fall. 

Mary sighed. She was being ridiculous again. Her dream must have affected her more profoundly than she even realized. Now she was doubting the seasons as well as her own mind. 

Drawing her coat more tightly around herself, Mary walked down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. Despite not at all remembering her drive into town that night, she found her car parked in the usual area. 

_There, see?_ She told herself. _Everything is as it should be._

The keys were in her pocket as expected and the engine purred to life just like it always did. 

A few minutes into her trip, Mary cranked up the sound on the radio. The drive home wasn’t overly long, but she did enjoy singing along during the ride. 

_“...Don't go 'round tonight. It's bound to take your life. There's a bad moon on the rise...”_

A jolt of pure, white-hot fear assaulted Mary’s senses. She slammed on the breaks, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods in terror. Her chest heaved, her lungs unable to catch up with her uneven breaths. Mary’s fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her entire body trembled from head to toe. She was utterly and completely paralyzed. 

Time passed. Minutes, maybe hours, Mary had no idea. But eventually the song changed. And again. And again. Until advertisements for local businesses interrupted the music. Slowly, Mary’s grip loosened on the steering wheel. Her breathing became more regulated. She could finally feel the endless stream of tears flowing down her cheeks. 

Mary closed her eyes tightly. _I just have to get to the cottage. Everything will be alright if I just get home._

She carefully adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, took a deep breath and put the car back in drive. 

She made sure the radio stayed off for the rest of the journey. 

***

Mary never thought of herself as being a predictable person. She understood why others might see her as such, but it wasn’t entirely true. Mary thrived on organization and routine, but that didn’t mean she never looked forward to a little adventure. A little spontaneity. A little danger. 

Why else would she love horror films so much? Horror was exciting, unexpected and suspenseful. Zombies were slaughtered, demons banished and ghosts exorcised in thrilling ways. It was a vicarious experience, a momentary escape from the true, indomitable horrors in everyday life. 

Especially in Greendale. Their little town held more secrets and demons than most people realized. But Mary Wardwell knew. History had told her more disturbing things about Greendale and its residents than anyone could imagine. That was partly why she never felt the desire to leave. Mary still had so much to learn about the town she knew and loved. There was a mystery here, a puzzle that had enthralled her since she was a girl. 

Tonight was different. Very, very, different. For the first time in her life, Mary wished she had grown up somewhere else. 

Tonight, Mary felt like a stranger in her own cottage. The thought should be preposterous, as she lived alone and rarely had visitors. Indeed, the house had been willed to her by her father after his death decades ago. She had been the only resident ever since. 

_Why does everything look out of place?_ Mary’s mind screamed. 

If her entire house had been upended with furniture overturned, glass broken and paintings askew, Mary could chalk up the entire experience to a break-in. An unfortunate robbery. Her cottage was isolated, after all, and it would make a perfect target for thieves. 

No, nothing of the sort had happened while Mary was gone. Something far more sinister was going on. Mary could feel it in her bones. It was the little things that terrified her the most. 

_My knitting basket is missing._  
_The lampshade by my desk is crooked._  
_The rug has two small, dark stains that weren’t there before._  
_There’s an indent in the carpet where my armchair should sit._  
_My favorite tea set is out on the coffee table. The lipstick shade on the rim of the teacup is not a color I’ve ever worn._

Mary stood in her living room, her coat still clasped in her hands like a security blanket. She was too afraid to venture further into her own home. Too many things were different, too many things were all wrong from how she remembered them. 

One thing became startlingly clear. 

_A stranger has been inside my home._

Mary shivered with the certainty of it. 

_And maybe...they’re still here._

The thought spurred her into action. She would not be a victim to this intruder’s plot. Mary dropped her coat, grabbed a fireplace poker from the mantle and slowly made her way deeper into the cottage.

“Is anyone here?” She called. “Come out now! I know you’re here.” 

Silence. 

“If this is a senior prank, it isn’t funny,” Mary hedged, hoping against hope that she was just the target of a wayward student’s joke. “You will be expelled for this.”

The cottage remained quiet. 

Mary tiptoed into the kitchen, flicking the lights on as she went. It was empty, but a foul smell assaulted her nose. 

Curiously, she followed the smell to the refrigerator. With the fireplace poker held aloft, she threw open the door.

Moldy, rotten produce tumbled out of the fridge and onto the floor. The pulverized remains of an onion and two tomatoes sat at her feet. 

Mary wrinkled her nose in disgust. Surely she hadn’t forgotten to go to the store in so long? She quickly disposed of the fetid vegetables and continued her search of the cottage. 

Her bedroom appeared undisturbed, but a closer look stoked Mary’s fears. A perfume atomizer sat on the nightstand instead of on her dressing table. Books that belonged in the study were strewn about the floor in piles. And the window was thrown open, the breeze lifting the curtains gently. 

Fireplace poker still in hand, Mary slammed the window shut and locked it tight. She turned her attention to the closet. 

“If someone is in there, you had better come out now,” Mary yelled, proud that her voice had not betrayed her terror. 

She threw open the closet door to find no one inside. What she did find was even more disconcerting. 

Her wardrobe was gone. 

The expected cozy sweaters, modest skirts and conservative dresses were all missing. Instead, her closet was an explosion of color and texture. Dresses with vibrant patterns, shiny metallics and daring necklines covered an entire wall. Her shoe rack was filled with expensive high heels that she’d never been confident enough to wear. Silky tops and slinky skirts replaced her collection of trusty button-ups and pressed slacks. A green silk robe hung on the back of the door, a v-neck so low that she nearly blushed at the thought of wearing such a thing. 

Mary Wardwell could take no more. 

The fireplace poker clattered to the floor as Mary collapsed to her knees. She tossed her glasses across the room and covered her face with her hands. Deep, aching sobs ripped her throat as she cried. 

“What’s happening?” She screamed through tears. “What’s happening to me?!” 

Confused, frightened and unsure what to do next, Mary wept on the floor of her bedroom until exhaustion lulled her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poor string bean is going to be so traumatized, I cannot handle it. 
> 
> Anyway, this whole thing is a work in progress, so bear with me. And please let me know if you're interested in reading more. I have a lot of half-formed ideas that I'd love to flesh out and share if anyone cares to read them. Thanks!!


	2. Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary tries to get back into her daily routine with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely response to this story! I'm so glad I am not the only one entirely obsessed with mortal!Mary and the aftermath of her resurrection. 
> 
> **CW for this chapter: Some bloody violence and a brief reference to suicide.**

_Cold. It was terribly cold on the hard, chilled forest ground. While she couldn’t see well without her glasses, she somehow knew that she was lying in the middle of the Greendale forest._

Until. 

_Pain. The only thing she could sense was blinding, white-hot pain searing through her neck. She tried to breathe, but thick, hot blood bubbled up in her throat. She choked violently and rolled onto her side, desperately trying to pull air into her protesting lungs._

_"Help!" Mary rasped around a mouthful of blood. A deep, sickening wheeze accompanied her every painful breath. Her hands clawed at her neck, trying to stem the flow of blood._

_"H…elp! Please," She begged the cold, empty woods. Black spots danced in front of her eyes and the edges of her vision blurred._

_"I'm so sorry, Mary," A distant voice whispered on the breeze. "But we have to start at the beginning. It's the only way I can help you."_

_Mary clung to consciousness, determined to survive. She had no idea where the voice had come from or what it meant. All she knew was that it was her only lifeline._

_"What…" She coughed sharply and blood spurted from the hole in her neck. "What do you want from me?"_

_"Mary," The voice sounded closer now. Distorted, impossible to recognize. "All I want is for you to remember. I'm sorry it has to be this way."_

_And then her surroundings shifted. Instead of laying in the Greendale woods, Mary was lying face-down in her own cottage. She could breathe freely, but she reached up a hand to feel the wound at her neck. It no longer pained her, but the gaping hole was still there. Mary lowered her blood-stained hands, relieved that the hot, sticky liquid was no longer gushing out of her. She rose carefully from the ground only to be greeted by a sight more horrifying than anything she could have imagined._

_Mary saw her own dead body on the ground - face-down, bloodied, and still. Her knitting scissors were planted firmly in her neck, protruding from the exact same spot as the slash near her own throat. Tears of confusion and fear spilled from her eyes as she took in the sight._

_One of her worst fears had come true. Mary Wardwell died all alone in her cottage with no one to come to her aid. God only knows how long her body would lay on the floor - cold, lonely, and forgotten - until someone eventually found her._

_"Why are you showing me this?" Mary's scream was hollow and pained. "Who did this to me?"_

_And then another, different version of Mary entered the sitting room with a glass of whiskey in hand. Her hair was loose and her dress was tight and revealing. She stood over the dead body with a gleam in her eye._

_"My, my, my," The false Mary cooed. "I am going to have some fun with you, Mary Wardwell."_

_The true Mary watched as her own dead body burst into bright blue flames and the doppelgänger howled with laughter._

_And Mary screamed as she had never screamed before._

***

Mary Wardwell jolted awake screaming. For several seconds, paralyzing fear kept her from recognizing her surroundings. Slowly, her senses came back to her. She was currently laying on her bedroom floor in a rather undignified heap. 

_“I fell asleep again,”_ She thought. _“And had another horrific nightmare.”_

Mary placed a hand to her throbbing head, praying that this wouldn’t become a habit for her. Falling asleep and waking up terrified and in strange places was no way to go through life. 

_“That must be why everything felt so strange last night,”_ Mary reasoned. _“I was still dreaming.”_

Mary sat upright and stretched her aching muscles. Her neck spasmed sharply and her throat felt raw. Gazing over at the window, tiny slivers of sunlight peeked through the blinds. 

Rousing herself, Mary decided she might as well get ready for work. There was no way in hell she would be getting back to sleep anytime soon. Not after two vivid, violent nightmares. 

Mary sighed, thinking about what her father might have said if he could see her now. She snorted out loud. She knew exactly what he would say. 

_“Enough foolishness, you stupid girl. Your mind has always been weak, just like your mother’s.”_

Well, Mary did know one thing was true. She was just like her mother. So she would take solace in one of the few, precious things she knew that her mother had loved. 

A warm, calming bath by candlelight. 

Feeling more settled now that she had a plan, Mary reached into her closet for the softest, fluffiest robe she could find. She was done worrying about the new, fancy wardrobe she somehow acquired. Routine was all that mattered now. Routine would set her straight and get her mind back on track. 

Mary lit a couple candles, ran the bathwater and mixed in a few drops of the lavender & chamomile oil that she had bought from one of Sabrina’s aunts last Christmas. While nasty rumors about the Spellman family had been around for years, Mary had found them all to be relatively harmless. At least, all the Spellmans she had met so far. Running a mortuary likely invited all sorts of macabre gossip, especially in a small town like Greendale. 

Besides, Mary’s favorite guilty pleasure was spoiling herself with nice creams, scrubs and oils. And, like it or not, everyone in town knew that Hilda Spellman made the best cosmetics and home remedies you could ever hope to find. They worked like magic every time. 

Just as expected, the fresh, soothing scent that filled the bathroom eased Mary's overwrought nerves. 

_"No wonder it's called a ‘Calming Bath Tonic’"._ Mary mused as she stood in front of the mirror and pulled the pins from her hair. I feel a bit better already.

The slight humidity of the bathroom had her curls rioting now that they were free from the constraints of her bun. That was certainly nothing out of the ordinary. But a second glance at her reflection had Mary noticing something…different about herself. 

Not crow's feet or wrinkles or laugh lines. Truly, Mary would never have given any of that a second thought. 

No, it was something new. Something that rudely reminded her yet again that her life had been turned upside down without her knowledge. 

A long, nasty scar stood out prominently on the right side of her neck. It was a faded, pale pink instead of the angry red color expected of a fresh wound.

Mary's brow furrowed as she delicately traced the scar with a finger. And then a flash of memory assaulted Mary's every sense. 

_She could smell woodsmoke from the fireplace and a hazy figure of a young girl sitting in front of her. A distorted, inhuman voice came from the girl's throat that chilled Mary's bones. A pair of sharp, silver scissors flew across the room and jabbed into the side of her neck. Searing pain, unrelenting terror and then…blackness._

Mary grasped the sink, her knees giving out from underneath her. She watched her own eyes widen in the mirror with a chilling clarity. 

_"That was_ not _part of my dream last night. It was a memory."_

Her entire body trembled as Mary rapidly tugged off all her clothes. She studied every inch of her naked body in the mirror, checking for differences and abnormalities. Her face, arms, and legs appeared as she expected. But, to her horror, Mary found another scar. A newer, fresher one on her right ribcage. The slash mark was still red, not quite healed over entirely. 

Carefully, her fingers grazed the raised, irritated skin. Mary closed her eyes, concentrated with all her might, yet her mind remained blank. She met her own gaze in the mirror again and felt tears well in her eyes. This was insanity. Awful, creeping insanity. 

_"Just like your mother!"_ Her father's voice roared in her ears. The thought made Mary's fear boil over into seething anger. 

"Enough," Mary said aloud roughly. "ENOUGH." 

She lowered herself into the tub, determined to banish violent dreams and foolish thoughts from her mind. She would compartmentalize this madness to examine another day. She needed to get back to her routine. It had saved her sanity in the past, there was no reason why it couldn't save her again. 

Taking a deep breath, Mary submerged herself in the soothing water and let it lull her into a warm, complacent state. She had a job to do today and, come hell or high water, she was going to show up to do it. 

Mary had no idea what would become of her if she couldn't do it. 

*** 

Mary had never been happier to walk the familiar halls of Baxter High. Students shuffled about, lockers clanged open and slammed shut, papers rustled, bells rang on time and everything ran like clockwork. Mary knew what was expected of her and what she expected out of her students. There were no unknown variables here, unlike at her cottage that now felt as though it belonged to a stranger. 

She had rifled through her new wardrobe and pulled on the most modest dress she could find. It was a perfectly appropriate black sheath dress with a purple floral pattern. Mary gave no further thought to where it had come from or who had put it in her closet. Routine was all that mattered now and she needed to wear something to work. 

Mary strode into Room 237, her classroom for the last eight years. She was surprised to find the blackboard washed, the walls bare of her Civics posters and the desks organized in a circle instead of the usual rows. She shrugged and went about setting the room to rights. Nearly done with re-ordering the desks, the classroom door opened abruptly to reveal a tall, tanned man. 

"Oh, Good Morning, Tom," Mary greeted her colleague warmly. "I was just about to stop by. Do you think I could borrow a few of your American Government posters? It's so bare in here!" 

"Miss Wardwell?" Tom eyed her curiously. "I…I guess I could put up more posters in here. If you think it's appropriate." 

"Don't be silly," Mary chuckled. "I can put them up myself. I know you must be busy enough with your World History students this semester." 

"Are…are you feeling well, Mary?" He gave her a strange, appraising gaze. "World History is only part of the Fall semester curriculum. Especially now that you and the Board of Education decided that I should take over the Civics classes full time this year." 

Mary felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably. "I decided?" 

"Yes," He drew out the word in a condescending tone. "You are the Principal now, Mary. And you agreed to let me take your classes after your promotion in January. Have you changed your mind?" 

"Principal?!" She gasped, suddenly unsteady on her feet. "I…well…of course I haven't changed my mind…I just..." 

"Mary, I think you should sit down. You don't really seem yourself…" A loud bell ringing cut him off and a gaggle of students started filing into the classroom. 

"Yes," She whispered in a daze. "I think I'll go have a cup of coffee and…clear my mind. Thank you, Tom." 

Mary hastened out of the classroom before he could get another word in. Her feet carried her to the Administrative Office on autopilot.

"Good morning, Principal Wardwell!" Mrs. Evelyn Meeks smiled as she entered the office. "How was your weekend?" 

"Fine," She croaked. "Not all that exciting. I caught up on some reading." 

"Well, that sounds lovely," Mrs. Meeks's smile dimmed slightly. "Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale." 

"I…" Mary's eyes drifted over to the door of the Principal Hawthorne's office. The door that now read _Principal Mary Wardwell_. "I don't know, Evelyn. I just…don't know." 

Evelyn frowned in concern. "Why don't you have a seat in your office? I'll reschedule your 9:30 meeting with the Economics Department and bring in a pot of tea for you." 

Mary nodded absently. "Yes, thank you, Evelyn." 

Unable to stand the scrutiny any longer, no matter how well-intentioned, Mary escaped into the Principal's office and closed the door firmly behind her. Mary gazed around the light, airy office, but the sight filled her with nothing but dread. Her chest was tight and heavy. It felt like she was trespassing on private property. As though she had cheated and stolen something precious, something honorable, something that was never, ever meant to be hers. 

Mary gingerly sat in the cushy office chair and rifled through the items on her desk, looking for something to give her a clue about what was going on. A preliminary spreadsheet for next year’s budget, a stack of permission slips for the French Club field trip, several resumes for the open librarian position and a sign-up sheet for something called W.I.C.C.A. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but also nothing that Mary recognized. 

She turned to the computer only to find a bold, colorful screensaver displaying the date. Today’s date. 

MONDAY, APRIL 22. 

Her entire body froze. Tom’s earlier words suddenly came back to haunt her. _“only part of the Fall semester curriculum...your promotion in January….”_

The evidence kept piling up no matter how much she wanted to ignore it. 

It was not October 22. The date Mary expected. The date she took for granted as a natural, indisputable fact. Everything else in her life had mysteriously shifted, warped beyond recognition and sense. Mary knew last night had to be October 21st. It was the only showing of _Night of the Living Dead_ in town and she vividly remembered attending the screening. 

A sharp, sickly feeling rose in her gut.

_But then I fell asleep. And woke up at the diner._

Bile rose in her throat. 

_Maybe...I wasn’t asleep. Maybe I truly have gone mad._

Mary threw off her glasses and pressed her hands to her eyes. She had to be mistaken. There had to be another reason. Some other explanation for her memory loss. For the misplaced items, the new wardrobe, the job promotion, the confusion about the date. 

_“Just like your mother!”_ Her father’s shouting assaulted her ears. _“It’s bad enough that you’re the spitting image of her. If you don’t stop these evil delusions, you are going to end up swinging from the rafters just like her too!”_

“NO!” Mary screamed, shoving herself away from the desk. Her chest heaved with unsteady breaths. 

Mrs. Meeks burst into the office, a teapot balanced precariously in her hands. “Principal Wardwell? Are you alright?” 

“I don’t feel very well,” Mary put a hand to her chest, a feeble attempt to slow her rapid breathing. “I think I need to go home.” 

Mrs. Meeks pursed her lips in sympathy. “I did not want to say anything out of turn, but you do seem very off today. Go ahead and head home, I’ll handle everything from here. You’re not to worry!” 

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Mary whispered as she pulled on her coat and absently fastened the buttons. 

“Give me a call if you need anything,” Evelyn smiled warmly, resting her hand on Mary’s arm for a few beats longer than what might be deemed appropriate. 

Mary gave a feeble smile in response, put her glasses back on and hustled out of the office. The sights and sounds of Baxter High that had so soothed her earlier now set her every nerve on edge. Lockers clanged shut ominously, loud footsteps seemed to follow her every move and shrill laughter sounded as though it were directed at her. She could almost hear the jeers and feel the pointing fingers. 

_Look at Miss Wardwell! She’s gone nuts! What a crazy bitch._

The laughter echoed in her ears and seemed to get louder with every second. 

Suddenly, Mary’s shoulder collided painfully with a human body in the hallway, almost knocking her off her feet. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Mary sputtered automatically. A hand at her elbow steadied her, unfortunately stalling her quick escape from the building. 

“Don’t worry about it, Miss Wardwell. I know you can’t possibly be feeling very well,” Sabrina Spellman met her teacher’s eyes with a clear gaze that the older woman envied.

“No, I...don’t,” Mary was horrified at her own admission. 

“I understand,” Sabrina smiled in sympathy. “Could I offer you a little advice?” Mary wanted to say no. Although Sabrina was one of her favorite students, she couldn’t possibly let the girl see all of her vulnerabilities. Sabrina was still just a child. 

_“Listen to her,”_ Something ardently whispered deep inside. _“Listen to the girl, Mary. Do what she says.”_

“Please,” Mary hoped her voice did not sound too pathetic or desperate. 

“You should come over to my house. This Saturday,” Sabrina said firmly, yet not unkindly. “My aunts will be home and they should be able to help you.” 

Mary’s brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t want to impose…” 

“It’s no imposition,” Sabrina assured her. “They will want to meet with you. As soon as possible.” 

“Well, since you won’t seem to take no as an answer,” Mary bit her lip nervously. “Would 7 o’clock be appropriate?” 

“That’s perfect,” The teenager smiled warmly. 

“I guess I will see you then,” Mary smiled wanly and turned down the hall. 

“Miss Wardwell!” Sabrina called after her teacher. Mary reluctantly turned back, unable to quell the rising dread in her heart. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Sabrina said quietly so that only Mary could hear. “I promise.” 

A fissure of warmth emanated in Mary’s chest at the reassurance. She nodded in acceptance and hurried outside to her car. Now that she had plans with Sabrina’s intimidating aunts, Mary had even less time to figure out her next move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Meeks definitely had a crush on Lilith!Mary and nobody can convince me otherwise. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for tuning in! Let me know what you think and where Mary's story should go next. I have plenty of ideas, but I love hearing your thoughts!


	3. So much to tell you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary seeks help before facing the Spellmans.

Mary tried not to fidget as she sat in Dr. Saperstein’s waiting room. Three days had passed since she fled from Baxter High, but her memory still showed no signs of improvement. She tried to rest, but it was nearly impossible. Her waking hours were plagued with paranoia and anxiety. She could never quite shake the feeling she was being watched at all times. As though something ominous and deadly was waiting in the shadows to jump out and attack her at any moment.

Her evenings were not any better. Horrific nightmares ruined every attempt at sleep, so Mary resorted to drinking copious amounts of coffee at all hours of the day. Better to be awake and jittery than experience yet another vile nightmare about blood, murder and demons. 

The latter made her think of her father again. How many times had she listened to his lectures as a little girl? How often had he threatened that demons were going to drag her to Hell for even the most minor indiscretion? 

_“A sin is a sin, Mary,”_ He always said. _“Every sin is punished equally in the eyes of God.”_

“Mary Wardwell?” She jumped at the sound of her name. A kindly nurse smiled and beckoned her inside. 

The next few hours were some of the longest Mary had ever endured. Explaining her problem was difficult and embarrassing. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she was crazy. Mary understood mental illness and respected those who coped with it every day. However, she knew all too well what could happen when a woman was perceived as crazy in Greendale. 

Instead of giving Dr. Saperstein all the details, she carefully told him about her recent memory loss and sleeplessness. She decidedly did _not_ tell him about the night terrors and mysterious scars that had appeared on her body. 

To find a diagnosis, Dr. Saperstein started small with a few blood tests and a quick check of her heart rate and blood pressure. All the results were normal, save for a slightly elevated heart rate due to her overindulgence on caffeine. 

Afterward, Mary spent the rest of the afternoon in various cognitive tests and scans. She even had to drive over to Greendale Hospital for an MRI, just to double check that she hadn’t suffered a concussion or other head injury.

By the end of the day, she was exhausted and even more anxious than she had been before. She collapsed on the couch in her cottage and stared at the ceiling in misery. 

_“What if there really is something wrong with my brain? Like a tumor or a disease?”_

The thought gave her pause. But it did not unsettle her as much as the alternative. 

_“What if they find nothing wrong with me at all? Would that be all the proof they need to call me insane?”_

A phone call from Dr. Saperstein’s office later that evening solidified her fears even more. 

“Mary, I’d like you to come back in to my office tonight. We need to discuss the results of your MRI.” 

Even though she dreaded hearing the diagnosis, Mary rushed over to his office in less than 20 minutes. 

She knew it had to be bad news when he invited her into his warm, comfortable office instead of an exam room. He guided her into a seat on a plush couch while he sat in a nearby armchair. 

“Mary, I know you’re frightened of these results, but I want to assure you that you can relax.” 

The urge to laugh out loud bubbled up in her throat. _Relax? How the hell was she supposed to do that?!_

“Your scan came back absolutely fine. Everything about your brain is entirely healthy and normal,” He smiled at her warmly. Mary didn’t have it in her to return it. 

“So...what is wrong with me?” She twisted her fingers together anxiously in her lap. 

“Physically, you seem to be absolutely fine,” Dr. Saperstein looked at her with kind sympathy in his eyes. “But I do think you have a condition called Psychogenic Amnesia.”

Mary’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “Amnesia?”

“It’s also called Repressed Memory Syndrome, if you like that term better,” He explained. “It is a form of situational-specific memory loss connected to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“PTSD?” Her frown deepened. “But nothing traumatic has happened…” 

“Nothing that you remember right now, Mary,” Dr. Saperstein interrupted her gently. “Repressed Memory Syndrome often occurs when the brain cannot process severe trauma. So, as a form of self-preservation, your brain will subconsciously censor any and all memories related to the incident.” 

“It’s also associated with fugue states, in which a person loses all sense of self for a period of time. Severe stress, anxiety, confusion and depression often accompany these bouts of memory loss.” 

Mary’s hands trembled. It made so much sense. Why else would she not remember six months passing? Or buying an entirely new wardrobe and achieving a coveted promotion?

“You’re saying that I...experienced some kind of traumatic event six months ago?” 

“Yes, I think so,” He confirmed delicately. “Although it might be difficult, the key to regaining your memory might be retracing your steps over the last few months. Ask around. Your family, friends and colleagues might have noticed something different about you, but they’re too hesitant to bring it up until you ask.” 

Mary could no longer hold back her tears. She cried silently while Dr. Saperstein rose from his chair to hand her a box of tissues. 

“Be kind to yourself, Mary,” He said softly. “Don’t put undue stress on yourself to remember everything immediately. Lean on your friends and family to support you.” 

She swallowed hard. Did she really even have friends in Greendale to support her? Mrs. Meeks might be able to help, she supposed. And there was also her impending dinner with the Spellmans to consider. 

Dr. Saperstein handed her a business card from his pocket. “I recommend that you call Dr. Hooper. She is an excellent therapist who can help you sort through your feelings.” 

Mary nodded gratefully and left the office in a daze. Her meeting with Dr. Saperstein had quieted some of her fears, but a lingering question still pressed on her chest like a 2-ton weight. 

_“What happened to me six months ago?”_

*** 

_The acrid scent of smoke, brimstone and sulfur nearly choked her with its intensity. Sweat slicked her skin from the oppressive heat that surrounded her. Mary quickly pulled off her sweater to reveal a silky green nightgown underneath. The plunging neckline and ample cleavage left her feeling exposed and self-conscious._

_“Hello?” She called out into the dark, shadowy corridor in front of her. It seemed familiar in the most vague, intangible way._

_“Is someone there?” Mary called again. When no response came, she stepped forward slowly with one hand sliding along the wall and the other attempting to hold the neckline of her dress together._

_She walked a few paces in silence before arriving at a door with a vibrant red light escaping through the frame._

_“Hello? Is somebody in there?” Mary knocked on the door cautiously._

_A shrill scream pierced her ears. “Help! Help me!”_

_Mary’s eyes widened in horror when she recognized the voice. “Sabrina?”_

_“Ms. Wardwell, help me!” Sabrina screamed again. Mary pushed and pulled against the door but it never budged._

_“I can’t get in! Open the door!” She yelled while frantically clawing at the unforgiving wood. A loud, painful scream met Mary’s ears yet again and then a dreadful silence._

_“Sabrina?!” Mary yanked on the doorknob with all her might. “Sabrina, please, let me in!”_

_And as if by some twisted magic, the door transformed into a tall, ancient iron maiden. The front of it gave way with Mary’s last desperate tug and Sabrina fell forward into her arms._

_“Sabrina, are you…” Mary’s question died in her throat when she adjusted the girl’s position in her arms. Sabrina was gushing blood from head to toe, hundreds of wounds in her skin from the sharpened spikes of the iron maiden._

_“No!” Mary screamed, lowering the two of them to the ground. “Sabrina, please wake up!”_

_But the girl lay lifeless in Mary’s lap, her eyes staring listlessly into the distance. She carefully stroked Sabrina’s hair and felt her heart break at the loss of such an innocent young life._

_“YOU!” A sharp, fierce voice sent shivers down Mary’s back. “What are you doing here?”_

_Mary gasped as Sabrina’s body disappeared from her lap. She looked up in terror to see her father eyeing her with dark, wild eyes._

_“No! Please, I was trying to help her!” Mary scrambled to explain._

_“She deserves to burn in hell, you heathen whore!” He roared. “Wearing a disgusting dress, putting yourself on display, and cavorting with_ witches!” 

_Mary shrank and trembled in his presence just like she had as a child. “I...I’m sorry, father.”_

_A sound slap jerked her head to the side, the taste of blood filling her mouth. He had split her lip with his rings yet again._

_“Your sins have enraged God, Mary,” Her father sneered into her ear. “You know what has to happen now.”_

_“Punishment,” Tears rose in Mary’s eyes. She thought she had finally escaped her father’s wrath now that she was a grown woman, but his hold on her would seemingly never end._

_“It’s the least you deserve for your transgressions,” Her father took off his belt and snapped it sharply. “You will thank our Heavenly Father for every lash, Mary. Without them, your soul would be doomed to burn in hellfire for eternity. And you would deserve it just like your mother.”_

_Mary closed her eyes and curled into herself. She knew it was safer that way. Her father’s blows would only hit her back instead of more tender areas._

_“Let the devil leave this filthy body and may our Holy Father cleanse it with blood. Praise God!”_

_The belt cracked through the air like a whip as Mary curled up tighter, awaiting the first strike._

_“PRAISE GOD!”_

*** 

Mary woke with a gasp. She sat up straight on the couch, a hand moving to her lower back to check for lash marks. Finding none, she breathed deeply and tried to settle her overwrought nerves. 

“It was just another nightmare,” Mary whispered aloud. Her father was long dead and his presence no longer loomed around every corner. Yet something about this dream stuck out more than the others. The vision of her father had called Sabrina a witch. 

_“A real witch?”_ Mary wondered. She knew Greendale had a long, bloody history with the Witch Trials but she’d never considered that those poor murdered women might have been true witches. 

Something blossomed in Mary’s chest. A seed of an idea that intrigued her as much as it unnerved her. _“Witches are real. And they live right here in Greendale.”_

A disembodied voice, the same one she heard when she last saw Sabrina, spoke clearly in her ear. _“The Spellmans are witches, Mary. Do not fear them. Seek them out. Listen to their counsel. Only then will you find the answers you seek.”_

Mary shook her head slightly, attempting to will the voice to leave her in peace. She didn’t want to follow its advice, but she somehow knew that she must. 

“Fine,” Mary finally said quietly in her empty living room. “I will visit the Spellmans for dinner and listen to their advice.”

As expected, she received no response from the ghostly presence. 

Mary rubbed her hands over her arms, suddenly feeling an awful draft. Desperate for warmth, she placed a few logs into the fireplace and tossed a match in after them. When the fire did nothing to soothe her nerves, Mary curled up in a chair and reached for the monogrammed leather notebook she kept hidden in her knitting basket. She caressed the inscription on the inside cover. 

_For my dearest Mary,_

_While I am away, I still want to share every part of our lives together. Write to me. About anything and everything. Though I may not always be able to reply, know that I treasure your letters. They brighten my day more than any sunrise in the world, second only to your smile._

_I love you with all my heart,_

_Adam_

Her heart swelled with affection for her fiance. God, she missed him so much it ached. 

_“I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to him,”_ Her heart thudded painfully. Adam always kept his promises, but she wasn’t surprised that she found no evidence he had come home for Valentine’s Day. His schedule was difficult and unpredictable. But he certainly would have called that day. Naturally, she had no memory of such a thing happening. 

Mary clutched the notebook to her chest, a poor substitution for Adam’s arms around her. 

She had written to him dutifully for weeks the first time he left for a mission in Turkey. And then Botswana, Thailand and Bhutan. She started writing to him less after that year. There were only so many ways she could say “Please be careful”, “I’m proud of you” and “I miss you”.

Mary also wrote less sometimes because she knew it would only upset Adam to hear about her dark periods. Times when her father’s abuse came creeping back into her consciousness to torment her. Days in which she could barely get out of bed for the crushing sense of loneliness that pressed on her soul and made her burst into tears at inopportune moments. 

No, Adam didn’t need letters about those parts of her life. The last thing Mary wanted was to make Adam feel guilty for following his dreams instead of staying home with her. His passion for charity work rivaled her own love for history, and she would never stand in the way of his achievements just as he never questioned her dedication to Greendale. 

Still, she wrote down her dark thoughts as well as her happier ones. While they were more like journal entries than missives to her beloved fiance, Mary still addressed them to Adam. She never intended to show them to him. But it was comforting in a way to be able to talk to him without _actually_ talking to him and admitting her fears and failures. That was what made her hesitate to set a date for their wedding. Would Adam really want to marry her when he realized how truly damaged she was? 

_Especially now that I’m more damaged than ever before?_

Mary swiped at a tear that escaped from the corner of her eye. 

_“There’s only one way to find out,”_ Mary decided. After her disastrous childhood and lonely adulthood, Adam had shown her that men could be decent, caring and trustworthy. He was her rock and he had never done anything in the past to hint he might reject her now. 

Mary grabbed a pen and started her first letter to Adam since early October. 

_Dearest Adam,_

_I miss you so much it hurts. My entire life has been turned upside down in the last few months and I barely know how to explain it. I know it might be selfish, but I need you. I need you so badly. Please come home soon. I have so much to tell you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support of this story! I'm working on the next chapter right now and I *promise* the Spellmans will all make appearances.


	4. A Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary finally has dinner at the Spellman house.

Mary knocked on the front door of the Spellman home promptly at 7 o’clock. Butterflies raged a war in her stomach, a mix of apprehension and (dare she say it) excitement. As far as she knew, Mary had never met an actual witch before let alone an entire family of them. She adjusted the lid on her serving dish, hoping it was appropriate to have brought something to share. 

_“Do witches even eat potato salad?_ ” Mary wondered, now doubting her decision. _“I should have just brought a bottle of wine instead. I saw Zelda Spellman drinking wine at a tasting in town once.”_

The door opened abruptly, interrupting Mary’s musing. 

“Hey, Miss Wardwell,” Sabrina smiled warmly. “Come inside. We’re just getting ready to set the table.” 

“Thank you,” Mary stepped into the house cautiously. She looked around in awe at the foyer, decorated in such rich colors and textures. 

“Good evening,” A warm, smokey voice spoke from the top of the grand staircase. Mary’s breath caught at the sight of a gorgeous redhead, cigarette in hand and the other on a shapely hip. “I don’t think we have ever been properly introduced.” 

“No,” Mary squeaked, then cleared her throat. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Zelda Spellman,” She announced, peering at the mousy mortal from her vantage point on the stairs. It still shocked her that such an unremarkable specimen could have possibly contained Lilith, their new Queen of Hell. What made this average schoolmarm so fascinating to both her niece _and_ to Lilith? 

“Mary Wardwell,” The mortal smiled tremulously, her nerves apparent even from a distance. 

Zelda took a drag of her cigarette before making her way down the stairs. “You’ll excuse me if we rarely crossed paths until now. Hilda was more than happy to handle Sabrina’s school matters. I had a mortuary to run.” 

“Of course,” Mary caught herself staring into Zelda’s light green eyes. They were mesmerizing, intimidating, and yet they gave away nothing. Mary didn’t think Zelda knew that she was aware of the Spellmans’ true nature. Maybe it was a secret she was never meant to know. Maybe _she_ would be on the dinner menu if she let on to her knowledge. Mary swallowed hard at the thought. She needed to stay calm. 

“Here, let me take your coat,” Sabrina offered.

Mary turned toward Sabrina only to see a man covered head-to-toe in blood appear through a door near the staircase.

“No!” Mary screamed and dropped her potato salad bowl to the floor, where it shattered. She backed against the wall and trembled violently. 

“Ambrose,” Sabrina castigated the blood-soaked man. “I told you we have company tonight!” 

“Ah, sorry, cousin,” Ambrose looked down at his appearance nonchalantly. “I was prepping the last two bodies and it took longer than I expected.”

Mary couldn’t take her eyes off the blood. There was so much, she could smell it. She could taste it bubbling up in the back of her throat, just like in her nightmares. It was going to choke her. She was going to die for her sins just like her father always said. Mary’s chest heaved with strangled breaths as her hands clawed at her own throat. 

“Miss Wardwell?” Sabrina stared at her teacher in shock. 

“Ambrose, get the Heaven out of here until you clean up,” Zelda pushed past Sabrina to stand directly in front of Mary, blocking the mortal’s view of her bloody nephew. 

“Look at me,” Zelda demanded, taking Mary’s hands in her own. The mortal’s shockingly blue eyes met hers in an instant, her pupils blown wide with fear. 

“You’re okay, Mary,” Zelda spoke softly. “I want you to breathe with me.” 

Mary nodded, making a feeble attempt to take a deep breath at Zelda’s direction. 

“Good, that’s good,” The redheaded witch brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen from Mary’s bun. “Keep breathing with me.” 

Sabrina watched in awe as Zelda calmed Ms. Wardwell with gentle touches and guided breathing. She had never seen her aunt act in such a way with someone who wasn’t a relative, and especially not toward a mortal. Sabrina would have expected her to laugh at a mortal’s fear and even attempt to make it worse, just for her own amusement. But here was her stoic aunt, helping her mortal Civic’s teacher out of a panic attack. 

“What’s going on?” Hilda bustled into the front hall, a tea towel resting on her left shoulder. “I thought I heard something break.” 

“Ambrose forgot we have company tonight,” Sabrina gave her blonde aunt a significant look. “He just came up from the morgue and scared Miss Wardwell.” 

“Oh, poor dear,” Hilda cooed. “She’s been through enough already, I’d guess.” 

“Yes, yes, thank you, Hilda,” Zelda snapped without looking away from Ms. Wardwell. Now was not the time to bring up even more of this woman’s trauma. She was even worse off than Zelda had originally feared when Sabrina begged them to help her newly resurrected teacher. 

“She’s not going to take it well, Aunties!” Sabrina had pleaded with them. “She was killed and her body was used for magic without her consent! She has no idea what happened to her or why her memory is gone. That’s not fair and you both know it!” 

Zelda had scoffed at the time, but Sabrina’s plea affected her more than her niece would ever know. Yes, Zelda knew far too well what it was like to wake up after having no control over her own body. 

“I...I am so sorry,” Mary whispered through tears. “I’ve made a fool of myself…”

“Nonsense,” Zelda cut her off sharply. “My dear nephew should have known better than to parade into the foyer covered in bodily fluids. This is in no way your fault.” __

_“You’re only mortal, after all,”_ She added in her head. 

“I’m really sorry, Miss Wardwell,” Sabrina apologized. “Ambrose didn’t mean to scare you. Since we live in a mortuary, I guess we’re all a little...desensitized to some things.” 

“Yes, of course,” Mary pulled a handkerchief out of her purse to wipe her nose. “I have no idea why I reacted so _dramatically._ ” She peered down at the smashed serving dish and splattered potato salad. “And I made such a mess...” 

“No harm done,” Zelda guided Mary around the mess by her elbow. “Hilda will handle the clean-up.” 

“Oh, I will, will I?” Hilda chuckled at her sister’s cheek. Mary’s face flushed hot, mortified that she had embarrassed herself so thoroughly just seconds after setting foot inside the Spellman home. 

“Yes, you will, sister. Sabrina and I will be showing our guest to the dinner table,” Zelda placed a hand on Mary’s back as she escorted her into the kitchen. The witch had a strong urge to run her hand up and down the mortal’s sleek, slender back in a soothing gesture. She immediately cut off that train of thought before it wandered into dangerous territory. 

Hilda rolled her eyes and hustled to clean up the mess in the foyer. “The pork chops need taken out of the oven!” She called behind her. 

“I’ve got it, Auntie,” Ambrose, now freshened up, rushed into the kitchen. With a goat-shaped oven mitt on one hand, he thrust the other at Mary. 

“Ambrose Spellman,” He shook her hand firmly. “I’m very sorry that I frightened you earlier.” He flashed a megawatt smile at her and Mary found herself understanding the young man’s reputation as a local heartthrob. 

“That’s alright,” She managed a tentative smile. “I’m sorry I overreacted.” 

“Now that we’ve established how _sorry_ we all are, could we serve dinner before it gets cold?” Zelda said pointedly. 

“We get it, Auntie, you’re hangry,” Sabrina winked and Ambrose laughed. 

“I most certainly am _not_ ,” Zelda sat down primly. 

“Oh, you definitely get hangry, sis,” Hilda agreed as she returned to the kitchen. “Do you remember how snappy you were during the fast last summer? I thought you were going to kill us all!” 

“No, just you,” Zelda pierced her sister with a glare. If they weren’t concealing their magic in front of the mortal, Zelda would have promised Hilda a swift trip to the Cain Pit. Or at least hexed her dress full of fire ants. Anything to pay her back for such insolence. 

Mary giggled lightly and took her place at the table, coincidentally right next to the miffed redhead. 

“Don’t tell me you’re playing along with this foolishness?” Zelda turned her sharp eyes on Mary. She did her best not to shrink under the intensity of the other woman’s gaze. 

“Well, I will admit to being a little grouchy myself when I miss a meal,” Mary spoke softly. “That’s why I keep my desk at work full of little snacks. Peanut butter crackers, trail mix, chocolate-covered espresso beans…” 

Mary trailed off, blushing as she noticed the entire Spellman family had turned their attention to her. 

“That’s very smart,” Hilda graciously filled the silence. “Maybe we should get a snack drawer for you, sister. That might help you loosen up a little every now and then.” 

Zelda’s eyes flashed again. “I will loosen _your head_ from the rest of your body if you don’t stop this inane conversation immediately.” 

“C’mon, Aunt Zee,” Sabrina sighed. “Aunt Hilda is just teasing. Don’t work up your blood pressure.” Zelda huffed and flicked her cigarette into a nearby ashtray. 

“Well, I agree with you, Auntie,” Ambrose swooped in with several serving dishes. “Enough chatter, it’s time to dig in!” 

The Spellmans all chuckled, even Zelda seemed to quirk a bit of a smile at Ambrose’s theatrics. 

Dinner was excellent, if slightly awkward. Everyone ate heartily and the Spellmans continued to lightly tease each other throughout. Ambrose and Sabrina in particular shared several inside jokes about an attractive popstar that the adults at the table had never heard of. 

Mary watched the exchanges with quiet appreciation. It had been so long since she shared a meal with anyone, let alone an entire family. She was woefully inexperienced when it came to healthy family interactions. The fact that the Spellmans were witches seemed to have no effect on their ability to have a family dinner. 

“Are you okay, Mary?” Hilda asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet.” 

“Oh, I’m perfectly well,” Mary sipped her iced tea to soothe her suddenly dry throat. “Just enjoying your company. Thank you so much for inviting me, Sabrina.” 

The teenager smiled at her warmly before Zelda stood from the table. 

“The night is hardly over yet, Ms. Wardwell,” she drawled. “While Ambrose cleans the kitchen, I would love to have you join me in the sitting room for coffee.” 

Ambrose rolled his eyes at being volunteered for cleanup duty. Sabrina stuck her tongue out at him behind her aunt’s back. While the display warmed her heart, Mary felt out of place among the obviously tight-knit family. She was still a relative stranger in their home and spending one-on-one time with Sabrina’s aunt felt like overstepping an invisible line. 

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome,” Mary tangled her fingers in her lap, a nervous habit she was unable to give up. 

“Nonsense,” Zelda’s authoritative tone brokered no argument. “We still have much to discuss. How do you take your coffee?” 

Mary opened her mouth, then quickly closed it before she resembled a gawking child. “Milk, one sugar, please.” 

Zelda nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, and the rest of the Spellmans rose from the table. Mary quickly followed suit. 

“Don’t mind Aunt Zee,” Ambrose whispered. “She means well, but she can be a little...brash sometimes.” 

A breathy laugh escaped Mary’s throat. “I think I noticed that, yes.” 

The young man winked at her before playfully tugging at Sabrina’s shirt sleeve. “Last one to the sink has to dry the dishes!” He tore out of the room, Sabrina hot on his heels. 

Hilda placed a gentle hand on Mary’s elbow. “I’ll be in the study if you need anything, love. Don’t be too worried. Zelda’s bark is worse than her bite,” The blonde paused. “Most of the time, anyway.” 

Mary smiled tremulously. Despite the awkward circumstances of their situation, she felt more and more at ease the longer she was in the Spellman home. She found that she liked them all very much, even the mercurial eldest Spellman. Mary could only hope they liked her too. If anyone desperately needed a friend, it was Mary Wardwell. 

*** 

Zelda delicately poured coffee from a French press into two of her best China teacups. She was tempted to slip a little of Hilda’s truth serum into Mary’s cup but thought better of it. If Zelda was to determine whether this mortal was trustworthy, she would have to observe the woman’s real feelings and reactions without magical intervention. 

_“And if she proves a danger to us,”_ Zelda thought as she stirred sugar into Mary’s cup. _“I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”_

Satisfied with her plans, Zelda carried a tea tray into the sitting room to find the mortal sitting next to the fireplace. 

“Thank you,” Mary smiled gratefully when handed her cup. Zelda took her place on the settee to Mary’s right. 

“Now,” She announced as she made direct eye contact. “I understand that you have been having some memory problems recently. Do you have any idea why?” 

Mary’s heart sped up at the direct questioning. Sabrina must have told her aunts about her problems. _How transparent am I?_ Mary worried. _Does everyone in town know about it now?_

“I...well, yes,” Mary squeezed her hands around her cup. “I can’t seem to remember anything after October of last year.” 

Zelda hummed noncommittally. “Have you sought any help?” 

Mary nodded. “I went to a doctor. He diagnosed me with a form of amnesia of all things. It’s a symptom of PTSD.” 

Mary could hardly believe she was being so honest with this woman she had only met hours before. But there was something about her that Mary found entirely fascinating. She couldn’t help but tell the other woman everything that had been plaguing her recently. It’s not as though Mary had anyone else to confide in. 

_“Besides,”_ Mary thought. _“That_ voice _I hear so often told me to trust the Spellmans. I might as well try.”_

“I see,” Zelda said softly. “Do you have any recollection of what might have caused it?” 

“Nothing concrete,” Mary swallowed thickly. “But I have nightmares. Every time I try to sleep, I have nightmares. They’re almost always about the same things.” 

Zelda remained silent, giving the other woman time to gather her thoughts. 

“I dream about violence constantly,” Mary whispered. “Blood, pain, and death. It’s all so awful.” She paused to look Zelda in the eye. 

“What happens?” The other woman quirked an eyebrow. 

Mary gathered her courage. She had nothing left to lose and might as well be as honest as possible. “I see a...vision of myself. Maybe a twin? Or a clone? And she does _awful_ things. Manipulation, torture, _murder_ …” 

Mary paused to take a large sip of her coffee to fortify herself. “I have seen horrible things happen to Sabrina in my dreams. No matter how hard I try to stop it, I’m always helpless.” 

“Sabrina?” Zelda snapped. “What does she have to do with this?” 

“I…I know she is a witch,” Mary whispered. “And that you’re one too. All the Spellmans are witches. Aren’t you?” 

There it was. She had said it. A revelation that would either help her solve the mystery of her memory loss or hurt her credibility even further. 

Zelda’s mask of cool indifference slipped for a moment to reveal her shock. _How did this insignificant mortal know their most sacred secret?!_

“I had a dream about it,” Mary explained, as though she had read Zelda’s thoughts. “I was told you were witches and that I should seek you out for help.” 

“And why would we help _you_?” Zelda challenged. 

“I don’t know,” The mortal whimpered, tears rising in her eyes. “The only thing I know for sure is that something _terrible_ happened to me six months ago. Something so awful that I have completely repressed any memory of it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” 

Zelda looked away from Mary, forcing herself to quell the roiling emotion in her stomach. 

“ _Damn her_ ,” Zelda thought venomously. “ _Damn her for saying just the right thing.”_

Pushing down creeping memories of her own trauma, Zelda turned back to the weeping mortal. “Yes. I do know what that’s like, Mary.” 

“You do?” Watery blue eyes looked up into Zelda’s face with a hunger to be understood, to be heard, to be validated.

Zelda nodded. “More than you can even imagine.” 

Mary tore off her glasses and broke into sobs then, unable to contain herself for a minute longer. “I can’t take it anymore, Ms. Spellman. I feel like I’m going mad.” 

“You have not gone mad, Mary,” Zelda wrapped an arm around the sobbing woman’s shoulders. “And for Satan’s sake, I think you have earned the right to call me Zelda.” 

“Alright then. Thank you, Zelda,” Mary chuckled through her tears. “Could I ask you a question?” 

“I suppose,” She agreed. 

“You never actually confirmed it. The Spellmans _are_ witches, right?” Mary looked into Zelda’s face with such earnestness. 

“Yes, we are witches,” She confirmed. “And I think we _can_ help you with your memory problem.” 

Mary cried, feeling a wave of grief tinged with relief crash over her body. 

Zelda gave Mary a moment to collect herself. The witch felt slightly guilty about the white lie she was about to tell, but she would have to bend the truth a little to avoid completely destroying the poor woman’s psyche. The news that she had been dead for six months and brought back to life was too much for even the heartiest mortal to withstand. Besides, if Lilith had wanted the mortal to know the truth, she would have resurrected her with memories intact. Or at least implanted false memories to prevent her from returning to Earth as a loose end. 

Zelda wasn’t complaining, but their new Queen of Hell was not always the most considerate or charitable with her “gifts”. 

“Listen to me closely,” Zelda held Mary’s face in both her hands. “You were assaulted and placed under an enchantment by a demon. The demon took over your body and assumed your identity as an excuse to get close to Sabrina.” 

“How?!” Mary’s eyes widened in horror. “Sabrina…? A _demon_?!” 

“The demon was sent by Satan to earn Sabrina’s trust and convince her to do his bidding. It... _she_...chose you because of your close relationship with my niece.” 

“So, I’ve been _possessed_ this entire time?” She asked incredulously. 

“If you like,” Zelda smirked. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but this demon is a master of disguise. Now that she has accomplished her goals and returned to Hell, she no longer needs your body.” 

“Was Sabrina hurt?” Mary’s breath caught, remembering dozens of violent nightmares about Sabrina’s death. 

“No,” She said firmly. “The demon tried to harm her several times, but was never successful. We even managed to bring her onto our side in supporting Sabrina. That’s a story for another day, I think.” 

Mary swallowed a lump in her throat. “Did I hurt anyone else?” 

“ _You_ never hurt anyone,” Zelda frowned. “It was the demon controlling your every move. You are not responsible for her actions, Mary.” 

She wasn’t sure she believed that, but Mary was overcome enough by what she had just learned. Witches and demons _were real_ and she _had_ experienced something supernatural all those months ago. 

“I-I’m not insane?” Mary asked, her eyes full of tears. 

“No. You have just endured a traumatic experience that most mortals never encounter and could never understand.” 

“It...it’s so much to take in. But it makes so much sense!” Mary sobbed violently, her entire chest heaving with uneven breaths.

“Shhh,” Zelda soothed, wrapping the weeping woman in a tight embrace. Holding the delicate mortal against her chest and filling her senses with the light, floral scent of the other woman’s hair, Zelda was beginning to understand why Mary Wardwell was so exceptional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been a little MIA. This summer has been a rough one for me, but I'm trying to get back in the groove with writing. I even have a nice new laptop to use! This chapter was a bear because it's the first time I've written for most of the Spellmans and I wanted to get it right. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and checking out this story! I really do appreciate it.<3


End file.
